By Charles M. Sumid
Copyright 2025 Original written 1972 Revised 1974

The ferry waits
At morning dock.
The gulls cry loud—
Old engines hum.

Through harbor gates
We hear the clock
Above the crowd,
The sailors come.

The whistle screams.
We pull away
From solid ground
To open sea.

Through salt and dreams
The children play
While foghorns sound
So mournfully.